


like black moonrise (his voice fell still)

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Finger Sucking, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Mouth Kink, Pre-Season/Series 03, Season/Series 02, Unresolved Sexual Tension, hes very... hands on, i guess around there or at least-, slightly more aggressive than usual!derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 21:12:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12849630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: "Shut up," Derek rumbles, close, dangerously close."Or I'llmake you."--He does.





	like black moonrise (his voice fell still)

**Author's Note:**

> juuust got the idea while [listening to this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MtmK-efwMe0) (something to listen to with this fic) and thinking... so i ran with it
> 
> title is from a quote by robert fanney

                “Shut up,” Derek rumbles, close, dangerously close. He’s so fucking close – close enough that Stiles can feel the way the words turn to hot puffs of air and burn against his ear. He doesn’t close his eyes, he doesn’t shiver, but sometimes, like this, in these positions (god, how does he get himself like this so often?), he has a damn hard time not doing so. With Derek’s next words, he imagines he can feel the scrape of teeth right against his skin, doesn’t want to ( _does_ , _does want to_ ) think about it on his neck, no – “Or I’ll _make_ _you_.”

 

                _Fuck_.

 

                “Oh, yeah?” Stiles asks, because he doesn’t know how to quit like a normal, fucking sane person. His voice doesn’t shake, doesn’t quiver, which is amazing, actually, aside from the fact that his heart is pounding hard enough it aches a little in his chest. Derek can definitely hear that, if not feel it somehow, so what the fuck, any outside attempts at remaining cool are rendered useless. “How do you plan on doing that?”

 

                This is the part where, if Derek was an evil villain, he’d smirk, something nasty and smug, and maybe Stiles would wet himself, or maybe his heart would finally go so fast he kills himself, but – Derek’s not. He’s not an evil villain, movie or comic book or otherwise, he’s just Derek. He’s Derek who’s damaged and angry and who loves to not trust Stiles, so Stiles loves to antagonize him, even though he really, _really_ shouldn’t. He’s Derek, who never does anything about it, who never hurts Stiles more than Stiles hurts him, who’s jamming two fingers right into Stiles’ open, panting, _fucking_ _mouth_ –

 

                _Fuck_ –

 

                _Fuck, fuck, fuckfuck, what the fuck?_

 

                _What the fuck?_

 

                Derek’s got his goddamn fingers in his mouth, just deep enough in that he’s not actively gagging on them, but he knows he will if he attempts to talk around them. They taste like skin, that bland, nothingness (but at the same time, somethingness, more texture than taste), and a little bit of salt, like he’s been sweating or something. They’re soft, too, a silky, smooth kind of soft, and they’re just… sitting on his tongue.

 

                He reiterates, silently, to himself (though a little projecting at Derek), _what the fuck?_

 

                Derek pulls back from where he was whispering threats right into his ear to stare down at him – and holy hell. That’s a thought, that Derek’s taking a nice, good look at the way his fingers look inside of Stiles’ mouth. He wonders what Derek’s thinking about the image of him – wide eyed, breathing quick breaths through his nose because he’d closed his mouth around the fingers in shock, just letting Derek’s pointer and middle finger lay on his tongue. He wonders what Derek would do next, if this didn’t work, if it didn’t shut him up. He wonders if he’d use something else, if he’d shove something else into Stiles’ waiting mouth –

 

                _Christ on a motherfucking cracker_. Fuck, that’s definitely something. Definitely something he’ll be thinking about for a long time after this. Probably even just twenty minutes from this, no matter what’s going on. Just, no matter what he’s doing, the idea will just pop into his head, Derek pushing on his shoulders until he drops onto his knees, taking him by the back of his head and –

 

                He pulls his fingers out from between Stiles’ lips, slowly too, and though Stiles didn’t even suck on, or swipe his tongue over them, they’re still wet enough (from Stiles’ own saliva, his on something of _Derek’s_ ) that they shine a little when they come out. They tug a little at his bottom lip, scraping gently against his teeth and Derek doesn’t even fucking wipe them off. He just lets his hand fall to his side, wet and shiny and covered in spit. Stiles doesn’t even pretend he doesn’t watch it the whole way down.

 

                Well, it seems that little idea on how much further Derek will go to get him to be quiet will have to wait because he can’t get his stupid fucking mouth to do anything but breathe. And that, it’s doing awkwardly too, all heavily, and sometimes with something that is close to a whimper or a whine, but he can’t fucking stop it. But Derek doesn’t make fun of him, or even smirk (even after that stunt he’s not evil, just _hot_ , oh god, _so hot_ ).

 

                No, but he does say, “That seemed to do it,” and leaves a lingering glance at Stiles’ mouth before dragging up to his eyes again, maybe thinking about how he’s going to use it when Stiles gets _mouthy_ again, or maybe how he just wants to put his fingers right back, or maybe something else that Stiles and his goddamn dick can’t think up right now. He doesn’t like not being able to talk, often can’t even help it, but _Jesus_. If Derek does that again, he won’t complain. Probably won’t even have the capability to.

 

                “Good.”

 

                The word is edging pretty fucking close to a purr (and Stiles isn’t sure if he’s just imaging it anymore, if he’s in a really surreal wet dream, or is this is a real thing here and Stiles’ only link to unconsciousness is the one that tells him he’s going to faint if any more of his blood tries to go south). It’s also one word away from good _boy_ , and Stiles fucking _wants_ that. He wants to be called a good boy while Derek’s staring right into his soul like this, preferably (but it’s not a requirement, no, not at all) with his fingers right back in his mouth. He wants that a lot.

 

                _Fuck_. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.

 

                As if able to read his thoughts (or maybe just smell them, hear them in the beat of his chest), Derek does smirk then. Stiles still can’t say he’d really call it evil, or villain-y. After all, it holds promise, but he has a feeling these are gonna be _much_ better promises than what any bad guy could give him.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for the read


End file.
